Broken Bow
by Darashini
Summary: After the battle of Emyn Muil (see author notes for changes), Legolas is haunted by memories from a past that he cannot quite recall. Aragorn arrives to help him, but might do more harm then good... (sorry, not slash this time)


Broken Bow

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from the Lord of the Rings...the sad, sad truth. But suing me would be okay, because that would mean that I have money to get sued for! The other sad, sad truth, I'm beyond broke. I own a pen, some post-it notes and cool friends that let me borrow their computers to post...Other then that, nothing.

Changes: Yeah, I think I may have seriously screwed up the story line, so using the knowledge from the books to help you try and sort out this mess of a fic won't help you... I had Legolas fight in the first battle against Sauron (though he didn't actually _fight_ him. Isildur's still the one that did that), and because he's one of the Dunedan, Aragorn was there too. Granted, he probably still wouldn't live that long, but I have an artistic licence!(it's made of cardboard and crayons..) I can make things like that happen...

This fic is set before the ring was found again...somewhere in that window of two and a half thousand years. So no one else from the fellowship will be making an appearance, unless I really want to go crazy... But at the moment, I just want you to read. Go for it!

D

(Oh, and by the by... 'Yay!' means thoughts. "Yay!" means speech. Thought I should clear that up.)

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Broken Bow

Chapter one- Bad Dreams and Old Faces

_The battlefield of Emyn Muil. Smoke rolls sluggishly over dead bodies,_ _bringing with it the stench of death. The wisps curl with hidden purpose around ankles of the fighters, churned up into pale faces streaked with mud and blood. Blow after blow...death after death...the fallen trampled under retreating feet..the wounded left to die on the battlefield._

'_Too much smoke...Can't see...What time is it?' Thoughts chasing each other, confusion..._

"_Legolas!"_

'_...Poikaer? Where are you?'_

"_Legolas!"_

_The swish of arrow tipped death fleeing with morbid glee from tired fingers, bloody from pulling back the string. Cries ripped from inhuman throats as tarnished blades are thrust through bodies. The smoke calmly drifts over all, watching...watching..._

'_...Tired...Can't see...Are we still fighting?'_

_Bewilderment...nervous energy forcing people on and on...no rest for the weary...only rest for the dead._

_Smoke...Drums...Fire...Fear...Wasted lives lie unclaimed. Arms listless_ _with exhaustion lifting, shooting, plunging, hacking...Lifting with lifeless ease for arrows, shooting with bowstrings a hair breadth thick. Shooting...shooting...killing...killing..._

'_...Is this a dream?...Am I dead yet?'_

_Shooting... shooting...stopping._

'_Why?'_

_Kneeling. _

'_Why?' _

_Crying._

'_Why?'_

_Innocence...dying. Arrows piercing innocence, pinning it to the ripped up terrain. Glassy eyes reflecting smoke...watching...watching...Smoke gliding over and shrouding innocence._

_Standing up...leaving innocence...walking away...falling...falling...falling..._

"NO!"

Sitting up in bed, Legolas Greenleaf panted for breath, feeling the strands of whatever dream he had been having float away with the sunbeams dancing on the foot of his bed. He glanced fearfully around his room, searching for the cause of his fearful nightmare. Everything stood in its place. Stormy eyes still tinged with apprehension inspected the dresser (closed. He had done that last night.), the window (covered by drapes. He had done that last night too.), skimmed over the desk (bare, he never used it.) and finally landed on the door. It was still closed and, to all appearances, still locked. To be sure, he slid his long legs out of his rumpled bed and silently stepped to the door. It was locked. But then, he knew that. He had done that the night before. Glancing around his room for the second time, he finally saw out of the corner of his sharp eyes the thing that had brought on his dreams. Nestled in the dark space between his dresser and the wall stood something that was so shrouded in darkness and dust that it was impossible to make out. Just indistinguishable lumps that were both eery and comforting at the same time for Legolas. It was still there. It would always be there.

He knew what stood in the corner by his dresser. At least, he did once. He must of. After all, it was he who had put it there.

...It was him, wasn't it?

The fair face scowled for a moment in memory, trying to remember what it was exactly that he had placed there, in the dark corner by his dresser. Because whatever it was, it was giving him nightmares. He could feel it. Malice seemed to ooze out of the shadowy thing and for a moment, the elf was afraid. Then the fear passed and Legolas pushed the thing from his mind. Whatever the thing was, it would have to wait until later.

Crossing back towards the window, which was on the other side of his bed, Legolas tired to remember what had been so fearful about the dream. But his train of thought abruptly ended when he pushed back the drapes and looked out of his window at the dawning world.

The Prince's room had been placed on the southern side of the great home in which he lived. He liked it on the south side because it meant he could look out of his window and not be blinded by the rising sun. It also commanded a spectacular view of the forest, with grand trees (which he had all climbed in his younger days) dancing in a soft morning breeze, leaves rustling softly, good competition to the fairest ballad sung in any great hall. The sunlight streaming down bounded from leaf to leaf, turning all a brilliant green and bringing a smile to the elf's face. This was why he lived. For the enchanted morning and the peace of the woods.

The Prince was quite content to stand there and hoard the magical view all for himself, but he knew his father would never let him stay in his room for as long as he would want to. Alone, just him and his window view. Sadly, he stepped away from his doorway to the forest, one hand lingering on the sill, before turning towards his dresser and the task of dressing.

However, not three steps had he taken away before he was pulled back again, leaning out and scanning the tree bases far under him.

He had heard voices. Someone was coming, and it had to be someone who had visited before. No one else took the forest path. What's more is it had to be someone Legolas knew, because he was the only one who showed people the forest path. His father may be one for intimidating gates, displaying great wealth and importance, but Legolas rather preferred the old ways. The old times, when people simply came and were simply welcomed. It made sense to him that they came by a simple road. But as he skimmed the pathway for the new arrivals, in his mind he ran through any message he may have over looked, any way of explaining this sudden appearance. He could remember none and a small bubbling of apprehension began to boil in his stomach. What if some ill mannered creature had discovered the road and decided to follow it? Or worse, one of the few people he had shown had been forced to tell the origins of the secret entrance and some wild thing was out below his window, calculating, looking for the best way to breach the high walls. His bubbling of anxiety turned to a hint of fear when he heard the quiet mumbles of speech suddenly break off and turn silent. Quickly, he pulled his head back into his room and leaned against the wall beside the window. Whoever had been taking the path had seen him, of that he was sure. They had seen him and had hid. Cursing his foolishness for leaning out the window so far that he had been seen, Legolas carefully turned and peeked carefully with one eye out his window at the trees. He saw a flash of black fabric disappear behind a tree as the owner ducked behind one of the great trunks. The sun glinted on something poking out behind the tree and he could almost feel the relief flood his fears and drown them in hissing steam. He could think of only one person who carried a sword that long, a sword that required an immense sheath to fit it. A sheath that at present was peeking out from the tree, a beacon flashing friendliness and comfort after his initial fright. A small smile caressed the elf's face.

'_...It's Aragorn..._'

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Darashini:...Whoa...That was cool. I just start writing and look where I end up...

Legolas: So, what's with the freaky dream sequence at the beginning?

Darashini: It's sort of like a flashback, dear. And get used to it. It'll happen again, I assure you.

Legolas: Greeeeaat.

Darashini: Where's Aragorn got to?

Legolas: Raiding the fridge. Apparently, standing behind a tree is hard work.

Darashini: It is if the tree is the Whomping Willow...

Legolas: What?

Darashini: Never mind. Different book.

Right. I'm off to save the fridge from the black hole that manifests itself as Aragorn. In the mean time, I can think of some reviewing that needs to be done...hint hint, nudge nudge...

TA! Until we meet for the next chapter...

Darashini


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